


If I Seem Too Serene, Torture Me

by tuxedoblack



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Choking, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Blood, PWP, Punching, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Slapping, Smut, gagging, mild bloodplay, no really this is depraved guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:04:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuxedoblack/pseuds/tuxedoblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric and Peter get each other. They get each other enough to hurt each other when they need it. This is possibly the most depraved piece of filthy smut I have ever written in my life, enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Seem Too Serene, Torture Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title is lifted from "Torture Me" by Metric.

At night, he would read books. He'd close his door and lock it - always. He'd sometimes even sit up and listen for a while, bolt upright in bed, alert as a soldier, waiting for all the sounds of the Dauntless compound to die off. Then he'd read, and he read _everything_. Philosophy, fiction, history and science. After a while, he'd let Peter stay and watch him. At first, he complained about the way Peter would "stare," but then one night he sighed and extended his thick arm toward where he was lying a few safe inches away on their bed. "Fuck, come here," he mumbled petulantly, and it was somehow adorable on someone as dangerous and brutal as a rabid animal roughly 97% of the time. "I can't concentrate with you sitting there being creepy."

It was an invitation, in the only way Eric knew how to communicate one, and part of what made them perfect was that Peter understood and recognized his signals and cues. There were some things he just couldn't say, and Peter got that and didn't ask too much of him. He scooted closer and tucked himself under the warm weight of his arm, turning his face to press it against a tattooed forearm. He smelled clean, his hair still a little shower-damp. They didn't talk because they didn't need to, and instead he dozed off against a now-familiar shoulder while Eric read. In the morning, his head lolled with an alarming vulnerability against his pillow and the book on his chest rose and fell gently with his breathing. When Peter dipped his head low to kiss him, a big hand darted out of nowhere and wrapped itself around his throat, fingers tightening even as awareness dawned in Eric's pale eyes.

"Shit," he said, never one to yawn or fight grogginess in the mornings, immediately wide awake. "Don't surprise me like that, you idiot." Peter only arched an eyebrow, reaching up to brush his fingertips against the hand still around his throat.

"Gonna choke me or get out of bed?" he managed, his voice strained due to the pressure of Eric's rough fingers, which had not loosened their grip. Now, they tightened further, and he was left struggling to breathe.

"Don't fuck with me," he warned, a cold glint filling his eyes. "I'm not someone you should tease, initiate."

"Yeah? Prove it," spilled out of him before he could stop himself, in a harsh rasp as the words strained past the pressure on his windpipe. Eric's thin smile indicated his understanding of what was happening then, and relief flooded Peter's chest despite the way he still hadn't let go of him. Instead, Eric was muscling him back onto the bed, on his back and still restrained by the hand around his throat. His grin was wolfish, and Peter lifted his arms to slide his hands up a broad back even as he was being choked. His face went red with the exertion of struggling to breathe, and Eric settled his big, dense body over him. Peter slid one hand down Eric's arm, tapping his free hand, and because he'd once been Erudite Eric read his cue immediately. He lifted it, wrapping it too around Peter's throat, cutting off his air entirely with both hands. Tiny white lights swam in front of his eyes, his brain going hazy and his cock going stiff against Eric's thick thigh.

"You fucking depraved slut," Eric said gleefully. "I could kill you like this, and you don't even care." That wasn't true - Peter kind of didn't feel like dying today. But he couldn't speak to disagree, and so instead he met Eric's eyes. His mouth was open a little as his body reflexively fought for air, and Eric took the opportunity to lean over and lick into his open mouth. The kiss was filthy, nothing tender in it as Eric sucked his tongue into his mouth and licked at his teeth, sinking his own into Peter's soft lower lip until the tender flesh broke and a dribble of blood oozed down his chin. Eric licked it up, staining his lips red with it, and it made him look all the more deadly. God, he loved him. He was vicious and violent and brilliant and cold, and Peter loved him so fucking much.

Eric leaned all of his weight onto his arms, increasing the tightness of his grip, and Peter's eyes rolled back into his head. "No one would care if I killed you right now," he mused out loud, his tone deceptively thoughtful. "Initiates die in training all the time, and as far as Dauntless is concerned, you're my property." Peter's erection leaked steadily, twitching at his words even as he began to lose consciousness. The implied _no one but me_ hung in the sweaty air between them, and he wanted to put his arms around Eric again. Eric smiled down at him, his own cock stirring at the sight of Peter's awareness draining away. Finally, as if coming to a decision, he said quietly, "but not today," and released him.

Peter heaved upward from the bed, involuntarily. His chest surged as his aching lungs were flooded with air, his vision dimming slightly and his arms flailing outward. He was so hard he thought he might die after all, if Eric didn't do something about it. He gasped for a while, until his head stopped swimming and he could breathe steadily again. Eric watched him with a predatory gaze, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and reaching out to curl his hand around the back of his neck in an instinctively possessive gesture. "You good?"

"Yeah," Peter managed, his voice raw but his breathing even.

"Good," was all Eric said, before he was _on_ him again. Their playing had fired him up, and he rolled out of bed. He usually only slept in his boxers, and now he yanked them down and kicked them off. His cock was as impressive as the rest of him, something Peter had sensed long before he'd ever seen it, and now his mouth watered at the sight. He was thick, long enough to bump the back of his throat when he choked him with it. He'd always demanded that Peter sleep naked when he was crashing with him, in case he woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to fuck. Peter never minded. The deeply male scent of him was enough motivation for him to scramble out of bed as well, sinking to his knees, but Eric facilitated things some by wrapping a fist in his hair and yanking _hard_.

His throat already felt bruised from the strangling earlier, but the sharp pain of his hair being pulled only made him moan. He was weak for this, and Eric was in love with his weakness, the way his vicious little bully protege went soft and helplessly vulnerable for him. He loved how easily Peter went to his knees, the way he nuzzled against his cock a little before wrapping his swollen lips around the dripping head. He loved the way he'd gotten his forearm tattooed shortly after joining Dauntless, in what everyone recognized as an obvious homage to the man he considered his alpha. _I'm yours_ , that tattoo might as well have said. The other initiates joked about how he should have gotten _Eric's bitch_ right there on his arm, and Eric loved how he never hesitated to break their noses whenever he heard it.

Neither of them could say it out loud, but they were perfect for each other.

The only sounds in the room were the soft, wet sucking sounds of Peter's mouth on Eric's cock as he bobbed his head back and forth. He braced himself with both hands against Eric's thighs, the soft brown hair there somehow soothing under his fingers. It was terrifying for both of them, to need someone. To know that neither of them was free anymore, that losing each other would mean unbearable pain and loneliness that they both thought they'd conditioned out of themselves. They resented their love for each other, but the resentment was like trying to glare down a freight train. It was coming for you, no matter how much it pissed you off or scared you. So they hurt each other to make a point, to prove to each other that they weren't weak despite these fucking tender feelings for each other. Eric relaxed now though, his grip loosening in Peter's hair until he was really just petting it.

"That's fucking good," he mumbled, jerking his hips forward until Peter gagged, his throat muscles working around Eric's cock. Eric slid a hand down and ran his fingers over the slight bulge in Peter's throat even as Peter's eyes watered. He gave him a pleading look, and Eric understood and palmed the back of his head, holding him in place so that his nose was buried in Eric's pubic hair. It was only here that Peter could relax, Eric's cock so deep down his throat that he couldn't even taste the precome leaking anymore, and his eyes sank closed. He couldn't breathe adequately, but he'd learned after several weeks of doing this that if he focused, he could manage to deepthroat him for a few minutes at least by breathing steadily through his nose.

Eric exhaled, watching him, the tension in the room as tight as a plucked string. "Fuck, you're so good," he said quietly. "Look at you." Peter whimpered, and the sound shot straight to Eric's cock. He sounded like a wounded animal, he and his sharp dark eyes and soft thick hair and cruel smile. His Peter. His balls were drawing up tight, and he yanked out of Peter's mouth at the last minute. He gasped again, nearly falling back onto the floor, but he looked so satisfied. He glared though, shoving at Eric's thigh.

"Fuck you, I was about to come."

"All over my fucking floor? Not a chance," Eric shot back, aware that Peter was capable of having an orgasm without being touched if Eric was willing to choke him with his cock for long enough. He grabbed Peter by the arms and heaved him to his feet, pushing him back to the bed. Peter rolled onto his belly and lifted his ass up, offering himself up, but Eric shook his head and pushed him onto his back again. His cock was so hard, lying flat against his belly, his balls tight. He looked hopeful in that moment, wondering breathlessly if this wasn't going to be one of those days in which Eric was in the mood to suck him. But he only wrapped his fingers around it, gifting him with a few quick, hard jerks, twists of his wrist before rearing his hand back and slapping him hard across the face. Peter's own precome smeared across his cheek from Eric's palm, and he made a high, thin sound.

"Hit me again," he whispered, no longer ashamed of anything. Eric's smile was proud, and he slapped him across the other cheek next, hard enough to bruise. Peter's cock jerked, spurting more precome over his belly, which Eric scooped up with his fingers and slipped into his mouth. He would never have told him, but he loved the way he tasted. "Again. Harder," Peter said, and now he was begging, tears rising to his eyes solely in response to the pain. "Please." So Eric punched him in the jaw, pulling it just enough to avoid breaking anything, but the _crack_ echoed throughout the room. Peter's mouth flew open on a wail, and Eric couldn't stop himself. He was slapping him violently across the face, dipping his head to chew on his tender nipples, grinding them between his teeth, yanking his head back by the hair to gnaw and suck at his pale neck until the hand-shaped bruises around it were accompanied by deeper, darker round hickeys. His neck and face looked like a watercolor painting of bruises.

"Eric fuck me, please, I'm dying," Peter babbled nonsensically. Eric was just as desperate now, and he flipped Peter over onto his belly. They never bothered with condoms, because Peter had never asked and Eric had never offered. It was either a sign of their recklessness or the absolute trust that they'd somehow managed to find in each other. Peter spread his legs, lifting himself up onto all fours with his cock dripping onto the sheets. He'd done so well today, and so this time Eric reached for the lotion that he always kept hopefully by the bed in case Eric felt like fucking him, and used his palm to spread it over his aching dick. He kind of wanted to put Peter on his knees and come all over his face, but he'd taken it so well today and he deserved this.

He slammed into him, using both hands to spread him open before shoving his cock into him. Peter only groaned, rolling his hips back into it greedily. Eric anchored himself with a hand in Peter's hair again, not pulling quite so hard this time. His pace was brutal, hammering into him over and over until he went red and raw around his cock. Distantly, Eric wondered about fisting - watching his hand sink into Peter's ass up to the wrist, twisting it inside of him and seeing if he could make him come on his hand. But that would be another day. An idea occurred to him, and almost experimentally he raised a fist and punched Peter hard in the back of the head, just to see if the stories were true. And sure enough, he tightened reflexively around him, and then laughed despite his dizziness.

"Asshole," he said breathlessly, rocking back onto Eric's cock.

"And you're my bitch," Eric punctuated his point with another violent thrust. "What's that make you?"

"Yeah, I'm your bitch," Peter said, going under again, into that headspace where he was safe. "Hit me like a bitch."

Eric shoved his head down into the pillow, and Peter responded only by lifting his ass higher. "Oh fuck," Eric groaned, his body finally ready to give in, a wave of heat washing through him. Something began to uncoil low in his belly, sizzling along his spine and straight through his cock. His orgasm hit him hard, and he rocked through it. He tended to come a lot, and Peter keened with every new rush of heat that filled him up inside. The slick, luscious burn of his cock was a little easier to take now, and Eric settled over his back, not pulling out just yet.

"God, you need it bad, huh?" he murmured, sliding a hand around his waist. Peter nearly cried when he touched his cock, and all it took was a callused finger running down the underside before he was spurting wildly all over the sheets, his mouth falling open on a nearly anguished cry. He felt like it was never going to stop, but finally it did and he collapsed into his own wet spot, panting and soaked in sweat. Eric's dead weight on top of him was wonderful, especially when he rolled them over so that Peter's head was on his broad chest, an arm draped over his stomach. The afterglow took a while to fade away, the various aches settling in as they recovered. Peter slid a hand between Eric's thighs after he slipped out of him and settled them on their backs, idly fondling his softening dick.

Hissing, Eric flinched away, and Peter laughed. "Too much?" he asked mildly, lifting his head despite his deeply bruised neck to kiss the underside of his jaw. Surprisingly, Eric allowed it, pressing his face into Peter's messy hair. He'd ruined him, Peter reflected, oddly comfortable with this. "Want to take a shower?" he asked hopefully, aware that Eric was strangely fussy about neatness and personal hygiene. Morning sex from him was a surprise. 

For a moment, Eric didn't respond, and Peter thought he'd fallen asleep. But finally, "Okay."

They didn't speak as Eric turned on the hot water in his bathroom's shower a few minutes later, but when they were under it Eric reached for him. Surprised, Peter let himself be drawn against his chest, dropping his head against his wet shoulder. "Hey," he said simply, mouthing open and wet against its curve.

"You okay?" Eric said gruffly, and Peter smiled into his skin.

"Always."

"I fucked you up pretty good."

"Sure did." Peter wrapped both arms around his shoulders, lifting his face for a kiss. They rarely kissed outside the bedroom, and when they did that it was always furious and violent. But Eric seemed to be in a mood, and Peter was determined to take advantage. He was genuinely surprised when Eric was receptive, sliding their wet mouths together almost tenderly, slipping his tongue into Peter's mouth but not angrily. He was so sore all over, every inch of him stinging in response to the water, especially when Eric released him and grabbed the soap to clean him off. They washed each other, brisk and efficient now, and dried off while coffee was brewing in Eric's kitchenette. They ate silently together, got dressed without words. Then it was time for training, and they left his apartment to join Four and the others in the gym.

The other initiates had long since learned not to comment on the fact that Peter slept almost exclusively in Eric's apartment now, but when he stepped under the gym lights, his darkening bruises were painfully evident. They'd bloomed all around his throat, chest and jaw, one cheek obviously swollen and the other bruised from Eric's slapping. He was hobbling slightly from being brutally fucked as well, and Four blinked at him and then Eric. "Holy shit, man," he said quietly. "You're gonna kill him in bed long before initiation gets to."

Eric narrowed his eyes. "And what a way to go, don't be jealous," he said, low and dangerous. Four didn't respond, turning to face the others to announce the fight sequences. Peter stood at Eric's right side, standing tall and straight despite his bruises, shooting a deadly stare in the direction of the only smirk he saw, Christina's. 

"Peter and Will today," Four announced.

Eric slid his eyes over to him. "You good?" he said, almost inaudible. Peter smiled faintly.

"I'm good," he promised.

End.


End file.
